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He was wearing one of my old practice jerseys.

It was an ancient thing, probably from my first season with the Blizzard, right after Chicago traded me east. The jersey hung loose on him, and it should have looked ridiculous. Instead, he looked comfortable. Like he belonged in my clothes. In my space.

In my life?

“Hey,” I said, my voice rougher than I’d intended.

Nico’s face lit up with a smile that made the victory feel secondary. “Jake! Congrats on the game! It sounded like you played well.”

And wow. The navy color of the jersey brought out the lighter blue in his eyes so well. I could’ve lost myself in them. Instead, I needed to say something.

“Yeah. Five-two. Just what we needed.” I moved closer because I couldn’t stay away. “You look good in that.”

He glanced down. A faint flush rose in his cheeks. “I got a stain on my flannel earlier. This was hanging on the hook, and I thought... I’m sorry, I should have asked⁠—”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” I touched the soft fabric at his shoulder. “I like it.”

The workshop was warm as the heater I installed when I moved in did its job. Even with all the shop’s lights on, the space felt more intimate because of the strings of holiday lights we kept putting up in different places. And the radio played some jazzy holiday tunes.

It was cozy and intimate, and a version of home I’d hoped for since I’d bought this place.

He seemed at home here. That was the thing. He’d told me about Kowalski’s call. It wouldn’t be that long until it was January and he’d have his own space. And this carriage house would never be like this again. But that didn’t matter tonight. He was here, in my jersey, asking about my game.

Nico seated the leg, wiped his hands, and focused on me. “I listened on the radio while I worked. I don’t really understand hockey yet, but I’m learning. It can be hard to tell what’s happening as fast as those announcers talk.”

“It was very good. I had two assists. The winning goal came off a pass I made to Lawson in the third period.” I leaned against the counter along the wall, a couple of feet away from him.

Nico’s smile was soft, almost shy. “I enjoyed hearing your name even if I didn’t always know what it meant.”

Coming from him, that meant a lot. I’d had boyfriends who claimed to care about my games. Most were more interested in dating a professional athlete than in the specifics of the game, or what I did outside of it. Nico was different. He listened when I talked about hockey the same way he did when the subject was woodworking.

I took in the shop, at the various states my furniture was in. A single dining room chair stood half-assembled on one of the counters. Boards that he told me would someday be a bookshelf leaned in the corner. And the headboard also waited, its carved curve catching the light. He’d been moving between all of it for days.

“The legs are even better than your sketches,” I said. The taper, which looked great in the pencil sketch, was stunning in reality. “I didn’t expect them to be this far along.”

“I’m happy with how they turned out.” Nico ran his thumb down the taper of the leg he’d seated, checking the line. “Two more, and your table finally stands on its own.” He straightened and turned his full attention to me. The scrutiny set off butterflies in my stomach. “I’m surprised you didn’t go out to celebrate.”

I couldn’t believe he stood in my workshop, wearing something of mine. Around him sat the evidence of everything he was building for me.

“I broke every speed limit between the bar we were at and here. You have no idea how much I wanted to skip all of that.”

Nico moved closer.

“That stuff is important, but I’m⁠—”

I closed the distance and caught the loose jersey at its hem, pulling him the last step to me. He came easily, both hands landing flat on my chest.

“Look, I know this is crazy. This should feel too fast, too much, too⁠—”

I kissed him.

I meant for it to be soft, reassuring. A way to stop the flood of words that made his voice shake. But the moment our lips met, the control evaporated for both of us, and with it so did the polite distance.

Nico grabbed the lapels of my coat and pulled me to him. He tasted like chocolate and the Christmas cookies I’d brought home a couple of days ago. His mouth was warm and eager. When he made a small sound of pleasure, my restraint began to fray.

“Jake,” he breathed against my mouth.

“I know,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. “I know.”